


Guilt is a Terrible and a Wonderful Thing

by KliqzAngel



Series: Make Me Want You.  Want You to Make Me. [9]
Category: Leverage RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Dark fic, Healing, M/M, Self Destructive Tendancies, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KliqzAngel/pseuds/KliqzAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Cuffs</p><p>Sometimes wisdom can be brought about by not a person, but an inanimate object and a guilty conscience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt is a Terrible and a Wonderful Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This series will be darker than what I usually write. All but one story came out in first person POV, which I don’t write much so I hope it came out alright. This is for an old prompt challenge over at Jared Chris on Livejournal.
> 
> This was written by someone (me) without experience in this type of relationship. I did do research, and speak with friends who do have experience in this world. I tried my best to be true to this type of relationship and not get too far out over my skis. I do understand abuse and BDSM are NOT the same thing. I tried very hard to make sure that while both are discussed in this series along with self destructive tendencies, that there was a difference.
> 
> Please no throwing stones. I won't enjoy it, and the series is old enough it won't change anything.

The cuffs have been sitting on the end table for awhile. A couple of hours at least. They’re just sitting there mocking me. I’ve been trying to figure out what he’s trying to say, what he’s leading to. I don’t recognize them. They must be new, because I should by now know all the things in his cabinet, but I don’t know these. I can’t help but wonder if he used them on someone else while I was gone. Someone who wasn’t me, someone who deserved him while I was being selfish and a coward. Maybe he cuffed them to the coffee table, pushing the chairs out and giving them room to play. Maybe he took them to the bedroom, our bedroom, maybe he cuffed them to our bed and did all the things to them that I want him to do to me, did all the things that I need him to do to me. 

It’s driving me crazy. 

It’s all I can think about. 

Jared and this other person in our home, in our bed, making love our way. I feel him watching me and look up seeing those hazel eyes studying me guarded. What’s going on behind those eyes? What is he thinking? What is he feeling? Does he know my doubts? Did he do it?

Is he guilty?

Guilty or is it guilt? Him or is it you? That voice is back. The one I ignored before. The one I ignored because it made too much sense. The voice I ignored because it sounds like Steve. Damn bastard always has to make sense and shit. I look up and those eyes are still on me, still guarded, but I am beginning to think that maybe that’s not a good thing. Maybe I did this to him. Maybe I made him think he has to hide from me. Our relationship has never been typical outside the bedroom. It’s always about me knowing what was going on in his head and him knowing what was going on in mine. It was about trust and sharing and understanding.

Except that it wasn’t. 

Maybe it was for him, but I didn’t really hold up my end of the bargain. Hell, I didn’t even really try. I didn’t try and this is the result. Jared on the other side of the room, emotions hidden, eyes guarded, watching me as if he isn’t sure what is going to happen next.

My eyes wander back to the cuffs, still sitting there, still mocking me. Maybe they haven’t been used. Maybe it’s a test. Maybe he’s trying to see what I will do. Will I freak? Will I accuse? Will I jump to conclusions? That must be it, it’s a test. He’s testing me. 

Somehow that’s almost worse than before.

Testing means he doesn’t trust me. Testing means he isn’t sure of me. Testing means it’s not really all ok. I hear a sigh in my head and I growl, I swear I’ma call Steve and tear a chunk out of his ass. This is his fault damnit. It is. It’s his fault.

‘Cause it can’t be mine.

Oh now, it certainly can’t be mine. 

Only it is. I brought us here. I lost it and didn’t trust. I panicked and didn’t confide. I stuck out and didn’t wait to see if I’d drawn blood. This is all me.

Me. My weaknesses. My games. My responsibility. Me, not Jared me. This is my way, not his. This is my mess to fix. This isn’t a test. This isn’t something done to hurt me. This is something done because I hurt him. When I look up again, I can see he’s gone and I can feel the disappointment hanging thick in the air. Maybe in a way it was a test, but maybe that’s not the way he was looking at it. Maybe it was an opportunity. Maybe it was a chance to see if I was willing to trust him yet. Maybe it was a chance to see if I was willing yet to tell him what I need. Maybe it was time for me to make the right choice.

I hope it’s not too late.

Standing I cross to the table and pick the cuffs up. They feel warm, or maybe it’s my imagination, but to me they feel warm. Warm with the guilt of what I have done with my carelessness and unwillingness to commit. Warm with the knowledge that maybe it’s up to me to heal some things here. Warm with the certainty that maybe I can.

Heading though the house, I find him on the back porch, and I know he’s aware of my presence. 

He’s always aware of me.

Crossing to stand by him, I turn to face his profile, one hand extended, the cuffs burning into my palm, one word on my lips.

“Please.”

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of several older fics that I have decided to post to AO3. They've resided for years on my personal archive, but I am thinking of getting rid of it. I want to make sure some of them are posted here. So, if you think you read this or some others I am posting over the next few days somewhere before... you probably have. They were also posted on LiveJournal.


End file.
